Joan Wolf by A London Season Page B

hostess's strictures before proceeding to do exactly as she chose.
    She found both Lord and Lady Bellerman in the blue saloon, taking tea. Lady Bellerman looked exceedingly grave. “This letter arrived for you in today's post, Jane,” she said, picking up a letter from the side table.
    Jane's extraordinary eyes lit. “Oh, good. My letter from David. May I have it, please?"
    "I thought perhaps that was who it was from,” Lady Bellerman said even more gravely than before. She had heard something of David from both her son and her daughter. She agreed with them that it was not a relationship that should be encouraged. “I do not think I can give you this letter, Jane,” she said unwisely.
    Jane was very still. “What do you mean?” Her voice was ominously quiet.
    "You should not be allowed to correspond with this stableboy. You are not a child any longer, and I feel it is my duty, while you are under my care, to censor your mail as if you were my own daughter. Your uncle is an excellent man, but gentlemen are never the best judge of what is good for a young girl. You must allow me to decide matters of this kind for you."
    Jane listened to this magisterial speech in an astonished silence. Then her eyes narrowed dangerously and her voice, when she spoke, was so cold, so exact, that it virtually paralyzed her listeners. “Whom do you think you are speaking to?” she asked Lady Bellerman, her eyes like blue ice. “I have been extremely forbearing with you, Lady Bellerman, but I will not tolerate this kind of interference. I must inform you that I am not accustomed to having my clothing, my behavior, and my friends criticized by persons whom I scarcely know. The only person with a right to criticize what I choose to do and whom I choose to know is my uncle. Now either you give me my letter or I leave Bellerman Hall. Immediately."
    There was a catastrophic silence as Lady Bellerman stared at the beautiful, implacable face of her young guest. Very slowly she held out David's letter. Jane took it. “Thank you,” she said curtly, and turning on her heel, left the room.
    Lady Bellerman turned to her husband. “Well!” she ejaculated weakly.
    There was a gleam of admiration in his eyes. “She was right, Lizzie,” he told his outraged spouse. “You overstepped yourself. What's more, you'd better leave the girl alone or she'll carry out her threat and bolt back to Heathfield. Rayleigh won't relish the scandal if she does that."
    "She is a termagant,” Lady Bellerman said, her voice gaining strength. “I pity poor Anne from the bottom of my heart."
    "They'll probably get along just fine,” Lord Bellerman prophesied. “Anne won't make the mistake of crossing her like you just did. Let her uncle keep her in line. If he can."
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    Chapter XII
    Seems, madam! nay, it is;
    I know not “seems."
    —William Shakespeare
    Lord and Lady Rayleigh collected Jane from Bellerman Hall in early December and they all returned to Newmarket for the holidays. Christmas was usually a busy time at Heathfield. There was always a house party of the Marquis's friends, which entailed daily hunting and shooting expeditions. Anne had been a trifle apprehensive about taking over from Jane the role of hostess and chatelaine of Heathfield. She need not have worried; it was a role Jane had never had much interest in playing. Anne had an inkling of this when Jane blithely referred her to Mrs. Andrews, the housekeeper, who “saw to all that sort of thing."
    Jane did, in fact, consult with the cook and kitchen staff daily, but the purpose of her visits was not to discuss the day's menu but to sample something from the pantry. Anne was startled, when she arrived in the kitchen one morning to inspect her new domain, to find Jane lounging at the big wooden table chewing on a pastry and chatting in flawless French with Alphonse, the Marquis's august chef. They were arguing amiably about the virtues of democracy. Jane was for it;